


he looks up grinning like a devil

by bisexualbluesargent



Category: Ouran High School Host Club - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-10-20 05:03:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20669762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bisexualbluesargent/pseuds/bisexualbluesargent
Summary: Tamaki gave him a small smile. “Do you ever dream?”





	he looks up grinning like a devil

Kyouya lolled his head to one side and loosened his tie. He slid his gaze over to Tamaki. “That was incredibly boring.”

“You think so?” Tamaki was cheerily swinging his legs back and forth, sitting on the duvet of one of the two queen sized beds in their hotel room. Kyouya didn’t know who, down the line, had requested that they be in a singular, shared room, but the impending proximity was making them both antsy. Although, he mused, Tamaki was usually like this. They were high up - twenty-sixth floor - but not high enough to lose sight of the details of cars and trucks passing below. Barely reaching the point where the lights of the still-open shops scattered along the streets had turned to dots, or squares, or some other shape, depending on the angle.

An ambulance screamed by and Kyouya waited for it to fade away before he spoke again. “Yes.” He snaked the silk tie out from behind his neck and placed it on the bed a little too precisely to be casual. “You know I hate these events.”

Tamaki bounced on the edge of the mattress, peering at him. “I thought it was nice. All that food. Everyone all dressed up. Laughing.” He moved his gaze to the window, blinking. “Je pense-“ he seemed to remember himself- “I think that it’s sort of nice.”

Kyouya studied him. He hoped he didn’t look too fond while doing it. Tamaki Suoh. Such a sad, lonely childhood. You’d think he’d have turned out to be something less kind. He found himself recoiling at a certain feeling, rising in his chest- it was a pest, his heart and its swells and leaps. “I liked last year’s collection better,” he said.

Tamaki giggled (Kyouya constantly hated that he had fallen for someone who _giggled) _and admitted, “To be honest, I feel the same way. Mrs. Hitachiin is really into florals this year, huh?”

“They’re horrendous. The twins are all over it, though.” Kyouya had moved across the room, filled a paper cup (“one hundred percent repurposed waste!”) full of water. “Did you see the group chat?”

A laugh rang around the room like a bell, and Kyouya had a moment where he forgot where he was. Tamaki ran his fingers through his hair and a few strands landed effortlessly onto his forehead like they were placed there on purpose. “I did! I did. Haruhi said she liked the pictures!” He flopped down onto the bed, smiling. His expression flickered into something wistful. “It’s such a shame she couldn’t come. She said she wouldn’t mind wearing that tulip dress.”

“Uncharacteristically,” noted Kyouya, absentmindedly sipping water.

“I know.” Tamaki chortled. “We’ve made an impression on her!”

Kyouya did laugh at that. “I suppose we have.”

“Do you think Mrs. Hitachiin would let me wear that daffodil suit from the collection? I did love that one. Don’t look at me like that. Well, actually, I guess I could just buy it from her…” Kyouya moved around the room, unzipping suitcases and placing things on tables. He wasn’t nervous. There was nothing to be nervous about. It was just him and his closest friend, two nineteen year olds in Paris. Sharing a hotel room. It was a perfectly normal occurrence, really.

“I’m going to take a shower,” he interjected flatly, stopping Tamaki mid-sentence. Kyouya had a bundle of clothes in his hands so he wouldn’t have to be bare in front of Tamaki, because God knows what could go wrong there. He wasn’t self conscious. Just careful. It was understandable.

Tamaki gave him a bright smile. “Ah, of course.” He wiggled his arms around on the bed like he was making a snow angel. “I’ll be here, mon ami.” He’d been dropping French phrases more often than usual since they’d landed. Kyouya chewed at the inside of his mouth uneasily.

“Je ne vais pas prendre trop de temps,” he said, turning away. He heard Tamaki call out an appreciative “pas de probleme!” as he sourly closed the bathroom door behind him. The tiles were in alternating shades of gold and light blue. It was all very lovely; the shower-head old and ornate, the toilet ringed with a pattern of arching roses. He sighed, counting the number of towels hung above the sink again and again. He hadn’t had much knowledge of French as a language until he met Tamaki. He recalled those first weeks, where Tamaki would sometimes struggle to express a specific feeling and Kyouya would go home and study vocabulary and conjugation all night just so he could understand. He turned the faucet on and forgot to wait until it warmed up and yelped ungracefully when the cold water sprayed onto his face. He wanted to place his head in his hands. He wasn’t a clumsy person. He was thoughtful. He was calculated. He was a prodigy, a third son without a need for a number any longer.

When he went to get dressed again, he found, irritatingly, that he’d forgotten a shirt. _It’s one of_ those_ nights_, he thought. _Great. _He turned the gilded door knob with another exhale, rubbing his scalp with yet another towel, aware that he was not fully dry. He all but scampered over to his suitcase for the shirt as Tamaki said, “Mori and Honey are at the hotel pool, but you just showered, so-“ he looked up and stuttered. “So- so maybe not tonight.”

Kyouya darted a glance at him and found he was staring; he didn’t know what to do with this, so he continued to dig into his pile of clothing. His sister would have had at him for not folding anything, but he hadn’t had the _time-_

“What are you looking for?” Tamaki was hovering over him.

“I left my striped shirt at home, I’m realizing.” Kyouya sat back on the carpet, thoughtful. He reached into his bag again. “It seems I left all my nightwear, actually.”

Tamaki let out a gasp, hand up to his mouth and everything. “Oh no!” He paused. “You can borrow one of mine, if you’d like.”

An insane, startled snort escaped Kyouya before he could shut his mouth. “No, no. I’m fine. It’s warm in here anyway.”

Tamaki seemed like he wanted to press further but didn’t. “All right. I’m off to take my own shower, then.” He hummed as he gathered up shampoos, conditioners, and various skincare products into a bag. “Is the bathroom nice? I hope it is.” Kyouya simply looked at him, amused. He doubted either of them had ever been in any bathroom that could be described as “not nice”.

Kyouya made himself comfortable on the bed. High thread count. Three layers of sheets. _Made in Egypt_, Honey had said in between pastries at the after-party of the runway show. Kyouya had been confused on why he knew this until he remembered that this hotel was primarily in partnership with most of their families. Honey’s family, for some reason, owned a company involved with bedding. Kyouya opened up his laptop, tapping away at things he had put off during the day. Shared documents about stocks, spreadsheets on company expenses from this week. His mind gladly took the outstretched hand of distraction. When he got bored of numbers, he brought out a novel his sister had bought him for his birthday, apparently about stealing a painting from the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Haruhi had told him all about it. She wasn’t an extreme enjoyer of fiction, she’d said, but she’d loved this one. Kyouya found his thoughts moving, again and again, to his friends, his day. He found himself gazing out the window at the stars he couldn’t see in this city. He found himself listening to the flow of traffic, which almost sounded like waves, if he forgot to focus. Some nights, he would lay in bed in his own room and stare at his own ceiling, searching for dissatisfaction, and would find almost nothing. And he would be surprised, every time.

Tamaki took very long showers. It was almost forty minutes later when he emerged, water droplets on his collarbones like he was plucked out of a Calvin Klein advertisement. Kyouya tried not to stare, he really did, and Tamaki, when he noticed, didn’t preen like he normally would and instead flushed all over, to the point where the redness had clawed its way up to his neck. Kyouya turned back to his book politely.

“It was a nice bathroom,” Tamaki said, softly delighted, and Kyouya grunted in assent. Tamaki was slipping on an oversized, satin nightshirt he seemed to have gotten from the hotel, as it was monogrammed with the word "Vibes" as well as a hashtag and the address of the building on the bottom. Kyouya did not watch him do it. He dog-eared a page (bookmarks didn’t look as sophisticated, thank you) and set the book on the bedside table as naturally as he could muster.

“You know, there’s no need to feel strange about it,” started Tamaki in a voice not quite mocking anything but not quite his own, “I’ve decided to take up sleeping naked, anyway.”

“Ha, ha.” Kyouya pulled up the covers, aiming for a sneer. “We’ve been in so many physical checkups together, by this point it would be weirder if we _were _uncomfortable.” _Ha, ha._

Humoring him with a chuckle, Tamaki shook out his hair like a dog would. An elegant, stupid dog. “Yeah, it’s been years, hasn’t it, Kyouya?”

“Years and years.”

Tamaki let out a pleased sigh as he sprawled across his sheets, holding them up to his face, content. “I’m so glad to have you.”

He turned his head towards Kyouya, eyes twinkling. Kyouya could almost hear them: tiny chimes. Every part of Tamaki seemed musical.

Kyouya cleared his throat. “I’m glad to have you. Too. I mean,” he said, trying again to pitch his voice into something normal, “you’re all right, I suppose.” Tamaki threw a decorative pillow at his head.

“It’s late. I’m going to sleep.” Kyouya moved to turn off the light.

“Kyouya Ootori, sleeping! What a thought!” Tamaki rolled over to fluff his pillow. “Give me a moment.” Kyouya turned the light off anyway. “Rude.”

“Me, rude? Never.” Kyouya threw off a few layers of bedding. It was a dense, warm Paris night, the kind where you could almost see the heat, could feel it settling on all your pores. Even with air conditioning, everything seemed sticky and nervous. When they had both settled, Kyouya almost thought he could hear Tamaki breathing, in between the car horns and-

“I’m glad to be here again.” A voice drifted over in the semi-darkness. “In France.”

“Your mother,” said Kyouya softly, because the only way he could round out his edges was without anyone to see him.

Hesitation. “Yes.” A shifting of pillows. “I dream of her, sometimes.”

Kyouya doesn’t reply to this, instead switching the side he’s laying on to find Tamaki fixing a stare on him. “Weirdo,” Kyouya muttered, not unkindly.

Tamaki gave him a small smile. “Do you ever dream?”

The question startled Kyouya. “Of course.”

“What do you dream about?”

“Well,” said Kyouya awkwardly. “My family, sometimes. All of you.”

“You dream of me?”

Kyouya pursed his lips, a fist over his pillow case. “All the time.”

Silence, and then: “What am I like?”

“Tamaki.”

A laugh, bashful. “People are always different in dreams.”

“You’re generally the same.” Kyouya found Tamaki’s eyes in the dark, reflecting off city lights coming in from the window. They hadn’t closed the blinds. He found he didn’t mind.

“I’ve dreamed about you.” There was something coy in Tamaki’s voice, and Kyouya waited for a punchline, surely coming soon.

“How embarrassing for you.” Kyouya found it easy to taunt Tamaki. He wondered, sometimes, if Tamaki found it easy to let him do it.

“Not like that!” Kyouya laughed at him, laughed and laughed. He could imagine how red his cheeks were, peaches at the height of summer, tulips before they reached their true color.

After the sound had died, there was another pause. “Actually-“

“_Tamaki.”_

Tamaki’s voice skimmed along each bed’s covers until it reached Kyouya. “I’ve had. Well. It’s perfectly normal. And we’re close friends, we’re bound to-”

Kyouya was wide awake. “Go on.”

He thought he heard Tamaki swallow. “I once had a dream like that. With the both of us.” After Kyouya didn’t reply, he added, “Kyouya, I-“

“What did we do?“ Kyouya felt his heart thumping at the door of something_, something. _

“What?”

“What did we do? In the dream.”

Tamaki made a shaky, amused sound. “We- we- you know.”

“Was I good?” Kyouya couldn’t resist.

“Kyouya!” Pillows were being thrown again.

Again, the conversation merged with nothing, and the vehicles outside kept going and going until Kyouya broke the silence again, taking on a role usually meant for Tamaki. “Come on, Suoh.”

Tamaki began and ended several sentences before he settled on “We kissed.”

“Where were we?”

“It was a place that looked like high school, except it wasn’t, it was mixed in with a park and your house and my bathroom.”

“Sounds romantic.” Kyouya drops him a line.

Tamaki starts to take it. “Oh, yes. The most beautiful thing, though,” he seemed to hold in a snicker, Kyouya could _tell_, “was you.”

“Oh, baby.” The words were said with no inflection at all. Kyouya was quite proud.

“You know,” said Tamaki abruptly, “I could just show you what we did next.” It was half a joke, half incredibly, almost uncomfortably genuine, and it made Kyouya sit up, losing all hope of catching his breath for the rest of the night. Tamaki’s moved over to sit on his bed, sliding his hand over Kyouya’s. It was too smooth, too practiced, and Kyouya was afraid, he was more scared than he’s ever been.

Tamaki gave him the most delicate kiss, ghosting his breath over Kyouya’s lips. It was all a caress, every part of it, and Kyouya felt his nightshirt brush up against the front of his bare stomach.

“That was just a recap,” Tamaki was saying, amidst Kyouya’s honey-like comprehension of the matter at hand. Tamaki was placing kisses down his neck. “This is the good part.” Kyouya thought this was funny enough to get a hold of himself and bring a hand up to grab Tamaki’s hair, making him whimper. He almost jumped at this, then did it again, albeit a bit smugly.

“Oh,” said Tamaki. “You look so beautiful in this light.”

“Shut up,” said Kyouya, but he gloated about it anyway. "You need to stop quoting bad romance novels at me." He could see what Tamaki meant; the fluorescent golds and reds from the city, still alive on this Thursday night, were embracing Tamaki’s jawline through the glass next to them, artificial hands made of stuff they could never physically touch. Glowing, glowing.

And maybe he _could_ humor him, maybe they could keep going, maybe Kyouya could follow Tamaki wherever he went, as he always did, as he was certain he always would. “Can I guess what happened next?” Kyouya placed his lips onto Tamaki’s palm.

“Yes,” he breathed, an earnest answer.

Kyouya gave him a sly look, placing the hand onto his own cock through his briefs. “You know what I think, Suoh?”

Tamaki’s voice was ragged. “What do you think.”

“You’ve dreamed about this more than once.” Kyouya was whispering into Tamaki’s ear. He liked to think he was good at this. “You’ve wanted this,” he continued, licking a line down pale neck, “for a while.”

“I think you’re talking about yourself,” said Tamaki, almost curtly, almost defensive, and Kyouya felt very satisfied, he wanted to run around and tell someone, anyone, _I told you so. _

“So what if I am?” His voice was slicing through hot air. The air conditioner in the corner rattled itself on, sensing the temperature’s growing altitude. Tamaki was rubbing Kyouya’s cock slowly, deliberately. Kyouya looked in his eyes, heavy and full of want, and reached for Tamaki’s, only to find he wasn’t wearing any underwear. “Oh, so you weren’t joking earlier.”

“That’s not technically naked,” said Tamaki, breathy and amused. “And our bodies need to breathe every once in a while.” Kyouya just looked at him, spitting into his hand and gripping his length. Tamaki moaned.

“Tamaki,” he said sweetly. Tamaki looked up, eyes asking _yes? _“I want you to suck my dick.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Yes.” He did.

“You’re so good at that,” groaned Kyouya, watching Tamaki swirl his tongue around his cock. Tamaki peered up at him through his lashes, pleased.

“I think we need to get back to that dream of yours,” managed Kyouya a bit later, when Tamaki had adjusted himself behind him, pressing his face into the crook of his shoulders. “Tell me more about it.”

“You like it when I talk?”

“No,” said Kyouya, but he was leering.

Tamaki raised his eyebrows, then seemed to steel on that face of his he always used with club clients, voice going lower. “I put my fingers in you.” Kyouya could feel his cock pressed against his ass, hard, leaking. “You begged for it.”

“People _are _different in dreams.”

“Putain! Stop.” Tamaki laughed, and again, Kyouya almost believed he was nervous, too. “I saw how you looked at me, coming out of the shower.” Kyouya shivered.

“What would you do if I told you I touched myself in there, thinking about you?” Tamaki’s breath hitched a little. “That I came, thinking of how you looked like, no shirt, all wet?” Kyouya moaned, despite himself.

“I’d tell you to fuck me.” Kyouya smirked at the wall, but lost it when Tamaki really did put his finger in him.

“You like that?” Tamaki asked gently.

“I like that,” rasped Kyouya. “Keep going.”

“Tell me you want it,” said Tamaki, and it was almost a mumble. Kyouya thrust his hips back against his fingers.

Kyouya decided to let go. “I’ve had so many about you, Tamaki. So many dreams.” His voice cracked slightly as Tamaki used his other hand to pull at his hair. “Last night, I had one where you came over and pulled me off through the bedsheets.” Tamaki whined at this. “I had another one, remember that time we were in Amsterdam? I had one where I was in that exact shower, touching myself and you walked in and-“ Tamaki pulled him in for a sloppy kiss. Kyouya leaned away eventually to finish saying it. “You walked in and watched me do it.”

Tamaki reached around and pumped Kyouya’s cock. It was so good it hurt, his fingers inside him at the same time. Teeth scraping across his back. Tamaki kept saying his name, moaning it, syrupy and like something out of a porn video Kyouya would watch at 3 a.m.

Tamaki was panting heavily, kisses on Kyouya’s spine getting messier as he slipped his cock in between Kyouya’s hips. “_Oh,” _he kept saying. “Look at _you._” Kyouya was sure he had never made any of these sounds before, ever.

“So eager,” he whispered, Tamaki thrusting his hips again and again into him. Kyouya reached down for his cock, palming it without much dexterity. He wanted, he _wanted. _“So _good _for me.” Tamaki was licking the outsides of his lips, not even kissing him, murmuring his assent, murmuring his name repeatedly.

Tamaki pressed even closer against him, grabbing his cock for him, slicking it up with precum. “You wanna cum?” Tamaki’s voice worked its way over the heat growing inside Kyouya. His hips jerked. “Cum for me. Come on. You _want_ to. Show me, Kyouya.”

Kyouya worked his hips faster and faster, losing sense of where he was, and then he came, bed bouncing. Tamaki did the same, saying some profanities in French, which honestly turned Kyouya on more than he would ever admit. There was a haze over the room, and there was something arresting about the slowness of it all, the city putting one foot in front of the other all day, all night, and them, another part of it, them, in this hotel room, nervous and still so unsure. And yet so unafraid.

As they slowed down, Tamaki ran kisses down Kyouya’s shoulders. “You’re so lovely.”

“That stuff doesn’t work on me.”

“Doesn’t it, though?” replied Tamaki, all innocent, rubbing Kyouya’s thighs. “You’re _gorgeous._”

“That’s common knowledge,” Kyouya said crisply. He was glad for the dim light. Blushing wasn’t the greatest look for him.

They both lay on the mattress, splayed out, listening to whoever was on the floor above play their music at much too high a volume. Tamaki opened his mouth, closed it. “I understand, if, well.” He seemed at a loss for words, which was worrisome. “If this can’t happen again. Or something.”

Kyouya threw a glare over his shoulder. “Suoh, you’re fucking stupid. I’m going to fuck you every night for the rest of my life.” He gave him a slow, smug smile. "If you want that, of course."

“That’s awfully presumptuous of you. I love it. Also, language.” Tamaki gestured dramatically in a way that reminded Kyouya of Renge for a singular, horrific moment.

“You’re one to talk.”

Tamaki ignored this. “We should go to the pool after all. I’m not tired anymore.”

“Oh, sure, and take another shower. Water is not a limitless resource, you know.”

“We could take one together,” Tamaki swooned. “It’ll save water.”

“I hate you.” Kyouya squeezed his hand and quickly let go. “Send a text in the group chat. I truly hope I brought my swim trunks.”

“You could always go in naked.”

Kyouya climbed over him carelessly and switched the lights on, making Tamaki wince. “I’m going to kill you.”


End file.
